Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheapMay who ne'er hung there

-Gerald Manley Hopkins

--//--

The pounding was merciless,
mallet and chisel against stone, hard thrusts designed to one day shape a
new chamber out of the rough rock. Vincent became aware of Kanin's voice
calling to him over the din and he lowered his chisel. "I'm sorry. What did
you say?"

He was aware of Kanin and
Cullen---his co-workers on this shift---glancing at each other. "I said,"
Kanin repeated, "that Catherine's been away a long time."

"Two weeks," Vincent replied,
though he could have said 14 days, 6 hours and 37 minutes. It was,
thus far, the longest separation of their married life. "She's at a
prosecutors' conference in Albany. She will return tonight."

"Ah, um, we'd noticed," Kanin
replied.

Vincent glanced at the two of
them in growing exasperation, patience thinned to a narrow line. He took a
deep breath, forcing calm, recognizing that his tolerance was not what it
should be. "Noticed what?"

"You've, um, been putting a lot
of time in on this chamber project," Cullen said. "And you've been busy with
the bridge repairs before that. And working on your house Above too. And
designing the rerouting of the entrances at the same time---"

"The projects needed to be done,
didn't they?" Vincent asked, though he could see their point. When labeled,
the list of projects he'd undertaken or finished did seem...long. And
exhausting, which had been his goal. Without Catherine, the big carved bed
in their chamber seemed lonely and cold, leaving him wakeful.

"Vincent," Kanin said. "You're
just working awfully hard, is all. That's all we're trying to say. Maybe you
should...I don't know...knock off. Go see Catherine. It has to be nearly
nightfall and you know she'll stop at her apartment before coming down. Why
don't you just go meet her? Cullen and I, we've got it from here."

Vincent bit back the denial that
wanted to rise---that he was fine, that he could handle the jobs he'd
taken on and more besides. He looked at the chisel and mallet in his hands,
feeling the soreness of overwork stiffening even his joints. "Perhaps you're
right." He handed the tools to Cullen.

"Oh, and Vincent?" Cullen said
just as he turned to leave.

"What?"

"Renata's shop is open until
five. Just saying."

Vincent nodded and left, feeling
more alive than he had in days.

***

Catherine fled the cab, barely
managing to collect her luggage and briefcase full of notes from the
conference. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like a year. She and
Vincent hadn't been separated that long since her trip to LA over a year
before...and now that they were married, no longer living in a series of
stolen and borrowed moments, the separations felt like an eternity. But
neither could she have refused to go---Vincent wouldn't ask that of her, and
she had needed to go to the conference, gaining skills she could use
in court, learning from more experienced prosecutors.

Her mind was already somewhere
else as she entered her apartment, letting her briefcase sink to the floor,
ignored, against the side table. It was then that she stopped, her tired
mind momentarily refusing to acknowledge what she saw.

The room was lit with candles,
of every size and shape and color---Catherine even thought she recognized a
couple of Rebecca's discards from last year's Winterfest batch---in sconces
and jars and dishes. The effect was to turn her carefully modern apartment
into a warmly lit cavern.

Vincent.
Her mind sang, the bond coming alive, warm and full. Her husband. He was
here. Not Below in their chamber, waiting for her to return, as she'd
thought he might---the weather was truly dreadful, a heavy rain beginning to
fall---but here.

He emerged from the shadows, a
tall cloaked figure. "My wife," he purred. "You've returned."

Catherine threw her coat over
the back of a chair, feeling light and happy as life---their
life---returned. "I have...Vincent, it's so good to see you."

His strong arms enclosed her and
she inhaled the scent of leather and candle-smoke, starved for him as if she
hadn't only seen him just two weeks before. "I've missed you," Catherine
said, hearing the distant thunder of his heart under her ear, seeing the
brightness of wildflowers on the coffee table, the wildflowers he knew she
favored.

Vincent kissed her. "As I have
you, my Catherine," he murmured against her mouth. "The nights were too long
without you." He ran one hand through her hair. "How was your conference?"

"Long," she said, "but it'll be
useful eventually. I'm glad I went...but I'm not happy I had to leave you.
Were you busy?"

"I wouldn't have been, except
for my own choosing," Vincent acknowledged ruefully. "I was...chased off the
worksite today by Cullen and Kanin."

Catherine pressed one hand to
her mouth to hide her smile, picturing the scene. "Working too hard, eh?"

"That's what they said. I needed
to keep busy, Catherine. The days were too....alone."

Catherine sighed, remembering
how cold the hotel room had seemed without his presence, how silent the room
had been without the tapping of the pipes. "I know. I tried to stay busy...
but I missed you too."

She felt the warm nuzzle at the
top of her head---Vincent's characteristic gesture of love, of reassurance.
"I'm making dinner," he said. "Spaghetti. Nothing fancy but...if you want to
go take a shower and relax for a bit, it should be ready soon."

"I thought I smelled
something delicious," Catherine said, grinning up at him. "Funny, I thought
it was you."

***

Catherine emerged half an hour
later, smelling strongly of the vanilla lotion she favored, wearing a pale
lilac nightgown Vincent had not seen before. When he asked her about it, she
blushed a bit. "I went shopping when we were on break from the conference. I
figured you'd seen all my others."

The memory of just how
he'd seen the others, the feel of satin bunching under his hands, sliding
off the curves of her body, momentarily derailed his concentration. "Mmm,
yes," Vincent said, stirring the sauce and hoping it hadn't burned in his
inattention. "Perhaps you are familiar with the expression, 'Coals to
Newcastle'?"

She grinned. "I am, and thank
you. So what have you been doing the last couple of weeks?"

"Lena and Warren are needing a
larger chamber, since they're getting married next month. And Katie needs
her own room," Vincent replied, tossing the salad with quick, expert
motions. He handed the bowl to Catherine, who took it to the dining table.
"I've been working with Cullen and Kanin while Warren is building some
furniture as a surprise for Lena."

"They do," he agreed. The
spaghetti was ready; pouring it into another bowl, he joined Catherine at
the table.

***

As they ate, Catherine found
herself growing distracted by the universe of Vincent's gestures, little
things she'd not seen in two weeks and missed with a soul-deep ache: the
candlelight reflecting red in his hair, the fond smile---startling still,
coming from a man who once smiled so little---and the soft rasp of his
laughter. "Oh, I missed you," Catherine said, chuckling as he finished his
story of Arthur's latest misadventure in Father's library.

The eyes that met hers across
the table were dark and very warm. "Did you, my wife?"

At the sound of that voice, in
that tone, Catherine felt an oh-so-familiar stirring. "Oh, yes. Yes,
I did."

Something wry and passionate,
joyous and loving, darted through the blue of Vincent's eyes. He rose and
held out his hand, the light reflecting off his wedding band. "Show me?"

***

The moonlit clouds turned the
shadows of the bedroom a silver gilt as the rain continued to fall. Vincent
gazed at his wife, pale in the dimness, and blessed whatever fate had once
again brought them to this shore. Sometimes he---they---did not quite seem
real (surely he would awake alone again?) but then Catherine would look at
him as she looked at him now, and the reality of their life together would
anchor him. She was here, she was real and she loved him, wanted to
love him.

"Vincent?" Catherine asked.
"What are you thinking?"

He started, realizing his hand
had halted at the complicated fastenings of his vest, stalled in his
musings. "I'm sorry," he replied. "Just...thinking."

She stepped towards him, and
undid the knots and ties. "Stop thinking."

With her very nearness, her
familiar, loved scent, Vincent was beginning to find that thought was the
last thing from his mind. "Yes," he murmured, touching the graceful line of
her collarbone.

Catherine undid the last knot
and he sensed her mirth through their bond even as her body shivered under
his touch. "Of all the things you could have chosen to wear tonight," she
said, pushing the heavy material off his shoulders to fall on the floor. He
smiled and undid his shirt, leaving it where it fell.

His hands returned to rest on
her collarbone and Vincent was reminded of the owl he and Devin had rescued
and then set free years before, its wings beating against his cupped hand;
such strength there had been in those frail bones, in the heart that had
thrummed against his skin. As he slid the straps of her nightgown off his
mate's shoulders and watched the satin pool on the ground in a liquid rush,
he felt the sparks begin to flicker through their bond.

Perceptions doubled and
redoubled---I am/she is/we are---through the filaments of their
connection. Their loving had taught Vincent that the intertwining of thought
and emotion was a natural consequence of their bond, but it still surprised
him in awe and joy. Her need for him was almost a living force and the quick
river of her thoughts had but one meaning: Mate.
Husband. Mine.

Catherine's touch released the
fly on his jeans (and not a moment too soon, Vincent thought gratefully as
he pushed the pants down and off, along with his boots.) For a moment they
stood, their arms enfolding each other, their breathing only as loud as the
pouring rain. "I missed you so," he said against the golden mass of her
hair.

Her hands toyed with the fur on
his chest and Vincent shivered. "Did you?" Catherine murmured against his
throat. Vincent felt---and knew she felt---his pulse stutter at her touch.
He could manage only a low growl of need and want. Something in her thrilled
to hear that sound, he realized. Desired it, even. She slid her hands
through his long hair, caressing him. Her scent coiled in the air, waiting.
Wanting.

The balcony doors had opened
slightly; the cool scents of wind and rain and the distant heavier city
smells---asphalt, exhaust, fuel, damp pavement---entered the bedroom. "I
should close the doors," Catherine murmured, but almost of their own accord,
Vincent felt his arms tighten around his wife. He did not want to let her
go, not now, not ever. In the instant the instinct emerged, he overruled it
with a chill of horror, and released her. What was he thinking, to hold her
so tightly with his greater strength? What must she think?

Catherine's eyes met his own,
wise and green and not at all horrified. "It's okay," she said, and to his
everlasting surprise, Vincent knew that it was. She understood...everything.
She hadn't wanted to leave either. She crossed to the other side of the
bedroom and closed and locked the balcony doors. "There," Catherine said.
"Now, where were we?"

"Catherine---" Vincent began.

The touch of her fingers on his
mouth silenced him. "Don't," she said.

There was nothing he could do
but accede to that demand, the apology dying in his throat unspoken. Vincent
tasted the salt of her touch on his lips and bent down to kiss her, tasting
her sweetness.

***

Catherine drew back a little.
"Better?" she asked, looking up at him.

One of her hands rested at his
throat; the strong pulse hammering like the roll of distant thunder. "You
have to ask?" Vincent asked.

"I don't," she replied, tugging
on his hand. "Come, love." Turning back the covers, she drew him down beside
her.

They lay there for a time,
foreheads touching, breath mingling. Catherine reached up and touched the
high planes of his face, the golden, dense mane. The blue eyes watched her,
dark and loving and, she thought, just a little stunned that she hadn't
recoiled from him. "Hold me, please?"

Vincent's arms encircled her
again but his touch was light, as if she were made of glass. "I need you
closer," she insisted.

He released a great breath that
stirred the hair on her forehead, but his arms tightened. "Better,"
Catherine said, kissing him, feeling him start to stir against her.

"I love you," he said, voice no
louder than the rain, and the light and joy flooded their bond.

"I love you too," she replied.
Catherine felt the long muscles of his back and shoulder relax, no longer as
tense as they had been. His strong thigh nestled between hers, his hands at
her back pulling her close. Her breasts rose against the soft fur of his
chest, tearing a soft groan from him. "You undo me," Vincent said against
her throat.

She shivered, his teeth gently
scraping the skin. "I'm melting," she whispered, and felt his slow dawning
smile against her neck. They had watched The Wizard of Oz only a few
weeks before---Vincent, for the first time.

"What a world," Vincent
murmured, chuckling. He lifted his head to meet her eyes and something very
intent darkened his eyes. Catherine knew that look, that want, his
desires only too plain. A clawed hand touched her breasts and she shivered
again, loving how even his most gentle touch could light fire along her
nerves.

The hair on his hands felt like
satin on her bare skin, she had told him once and, as adept a student in
this as he was in everything else, Vincent had not forgotten. Catherine
glanced at his eyes, seeing the blue of them nearly lost to the dark of his
passion as waves of her enjoyment crossed through their bond. Her hands
found that one spot---known only to her---on the base of his neck, hidden by
the dense curled hair, and she could sense the powerful rhythms of his pulse
lurch again at her touch.

The echoing, the strange
twinning of Vincent's perceptions overlaid with her own, was beginning to
cross through their connection as she stroked the longer, fine hairs along
his spine, wringing another groan from him. It seemed she could see into
another world, quite distinct from this one---sounds were clearer, sight
sharper and it might have been her scent or his that hung so heavily in the
air, beckoning.

His arousal was strong against
her thigh and she could feel him fighting his instincts and their desires to
merge them both. Which made no sense---surely Vincent could tell how much
she wanted him? His own desire was thundering through the bond with all the
force of raging river. "Why?" Catherine asked, gently forcing him to meet
her eyes.

A vision shot through their bond
then, as clear and specific as any she'd ever sensed from him. The porch
swing in Connecticut....the silver of reflected rain glistening on her
skin....her body, arching above his own...In a thunderclap of remembered
sensation, Catherine knew. That treasured moment---one of many from their
trip----was what Vincent had seen only once, what he yearned to see again.
"Oh, yes," she murmured against his shoulder. "Yes."

Vincent lay back then as
Catherine left the bed to open the balcony curtains wide to the sight of the
rain and the moonlit clouds. She scrambled back onto the bed to his warmth,
and felt his strong hands clasp hers as she settled over his abdomen.
"This?" she asked, feeling the pulse jump and shudder where their hands were
joined.

"Yes," he rumbled, voice
somewhere between a growl of need and a purr as his hands left hers to trace
her breasts. "To see you like this...in my dreams I saw you when you were
away..."

"I know," Catherine said; their
dreams were shared, more often than not. How many nights in Albany had she
awakened, gasping, on fire from memories or fantasies? Too many to count and
yet, they were here, now. She rocked against him, a wordless demand.

***

Her hair was gilded against the
ivory of her skin, silver as it flowed loose down her back. Rain rattled and
shook against the glass doors, the ageless rhythms of the storm echoing the
gathering tide in their bond. Vincent heard her demand, her heart's plea.
Now. Please. I can't...

He knew. Oh, he knew. His
hands traced the smoothness of her thighs; his mouth tasted her soft
breasts, dappled where the reflection of the rain touched her skin. Her low
groan of pleasure was his own---that this woman, his wife, would love
and desire him so. And he could no longer deny what they both wanted. He
arched against her slightly, and Catherine gathered him in, welcoming,
bringing him home.

Becoming part of her was more
than a physical joining, their souls finding each other. In such moments,
they were more than something other...something that had never been
before and would never be again. Light and dancing fire, a fire that never
harmed but only burned hotter, began to flood their bond as Catherine moved
against him, as he felt all that he was and would be follow her into the
flames together.

***

Catherine never let him move
from her, after. Knowing this, Vincent gently turned them both onto their
sides as she nestled against him. Her hands moved through his hair as their
foreheads touched again, as she kissed him.

"If I could purr, I would," she
said, her hand on his chest, no doubt feeling the soft rumble under his
breathing.

Vincent smiled, feeling his
knowledge of words and their use beginning to return. Her forehead was damp
against his and she shivered as he ran one hand down the smooth silk of her
flank. "I don't know....I don't think you need to."

"Mmmmm," Catherine replied,
stretching lazily, tracing the peculiar lines of his ears. "Perhaps you're
right." She tilted her head up to look at him. "Can you stay today?"

Vincent nodded. "I'm sure there
are those Below who will be...very happy indeed that I've decided to stay
with you."

She laughed, a delicious sound,
low in her throat. "Ah. A bit surly, were you?"

He acknowledge this with a
small, rueful smile. "Perhaps. I missed you."

With her free hand, Catherine
managed to pull the tangled covers over them both. "I missed you too. Will
you sleep, now?"

Clearly sensing his surprise,
she chuckled again. "Vincent, I know you. You looked so tired when I saw you
tonight. You haven't been sleeping well---you've been working on
stubbornness and a sense of obligation, am I right?"

"Yes," Vincent said; there was
no point in trying to hide anything from her, nor would he ever try. "And
you? Will you sleep now?"

She didn't have to say it had
been just as difficult for her; he could feel the weight of those days in
their bond. "Yes, I will, now that you're here."